


Draw Me Like One of Your Frenchmen

by Aelfay



Category: Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Awesome Clint Barton, Deaf Clint Barton, Dick Pics, Exhibitionism, M/M, Troll Steve Rogers, is that a thing?, modelling kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:55:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28244265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelfay/pseuds/Aelfay
Summary: This is written for andthwip in the winterhawk wonderland exchange, who requested sexting during inappropriate times, date night ends in trying a new kink, or getting off in the field. I managed the first two!
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35
Collections: Winterhawk Wonderland - 2020 edition!





	Draw Me Like One of Your Frenchmen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [andthwip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andthwip/gifts).



Time zones are a bitch. It’s never fun to be away from someone you love, but it’s even worse when communication gets fucked over and somebody’s always losing sleep no matter what the schedule is. Clint ends up texting more than calling so that hopefully sleep is less interrupted; he knows Bucky gets bad nights on the best of days. So he’s pretty used to waiting a few hours to get a response.

Tonight, for example, he’s not expecting anything when he texts Bucky. It’s been a long day and honestly, he just wants comfort; he strips down, flops into bed, and pulls up his messaging app as his other hand strokes down his own side.

> **Might be thinking of you tonight. I miss you.**

He’s shocked when a message pings back immediately, eyes widening.

> _**Might be thinking of you tonight. I miss you.** _
> 
> **Miss you too. You safe?**
> 
> **Safe as I can be. Having a private moment, if you get me.**

Clint considers his luck. He actually got Bucky awake; he could call. But he’s already taken his aids out, and his ears are sore from wearing them for the past three days solid. So instead, he snaps a picture of his hand, which is currently resting on his abs above his half-interested cock.

> **Could use some inspiration.**
> 
> **Inspiration might be mistimed.**

Clint stared at his phone. _Mistimed??_ He hadn’t been able to get ahold of Barnes for ages, and now it was _mistimed??_ What could possibly be _mistimed?!_

> _**Inspiration might be mistimed.** _
> 
> **What kind of mistimed?**
> 
> **“Captain America just stole his phone because he’s supposed to be in the middle of debriefing” mistimed, Clint.**
> 
> **Very nice photography. Lighting is good.**
> 
> **You’re a troll, Steve Rogers.**
> 
> **Bucky will get his phone back when meeting’s over, Barton.**

Clint groaned, falling back into his bed, and then paused, rolling over, knowing Steve would have turned the phone off for the rest of the meeting.

> _**Bucky will get his phone back when meeting’s over, Barton.** _
> 
> **Hey Buck. Am I crazy or did Captain America just tell me my dick pic looked good?**

* * *

“Barton.” Aw, and Buck looked good, didn’t he, civilian clothes and a cap on his head, like Steve always did whenever he was pretending to be undercover. It didn’t do shit to hide how gorgeously built he was, or the way he held himself, so people still gave him a berth – though they all noticeably relaxed when Clint grinned and flung himself into Bucky’s chest, making him sway as he steadied himself.

“Bucky,” he murmured happily. “Hi. Missed you.”

“Missed you too. How was the flight?”

“Flight was a flight. Did you get my text?” Clint gleefully pulled back so he could look down at Bucky’s ears going red.

“I really didn’t need Steve to approve my taste in bed,” he muttered, and Clint couldn’t help the snickers. Bucky rolled his eyes, stealing the bag from his hand and marching off, leaving Clint pulling the other and catching up with a quick jog.

“Do I still get my date night?” he asked hopefully. Date night was tradition, now; first night home after a mission. Even as exhausted as they normally were, they’d drag themselves to a shitty diner nearby and crash into a booth, leaving dust from their uniforms, and end up bantering sleepily over food. If Steve had lost him date night, he’d fight him, Captain America or not.

“You still get your date night,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes at him, and Clint let his grin come back. “And a surprise. I set it up. Steve helped.”

“He what.” Clint’s eyes narrowed. “Oh no. Oh no, Buck, you can’t.”

“Can’t I?” Bucky said, and Clint groaned.

“He’s a troll, and you’re both awful, and I’m going to regret this.”

“So much,” Bucky said, finally cracking a smile, but his eyes slid over to Clint, and Clint knew.

He was doomed.

* * *

The food was good, at least. If he was doomed, at least he’d have a full belly.

“If I’m doomed, at least I have a full belly,” Clint told Bucky, who rolled his eyes and helped him into his coat.

“You’re melodramatic,” he told Clint, but he said it while his hands smoothed down Clint’s arms, and his breath was warm on Clint’s neck. Clint ignored him, because this was the best sort of doomed.

He guessed different things the entire way home, but none of them were right, which wasn’t promising. Clint’s mind could come up with some very, very ingenious things, so if he couldn’t guess – and couldn’t even manage to tempt Bucky from his plan – he really _was_ doomed.

“Buck,” he whined in the elevator, and was rewarded with Bucky’s eyes glittering back mischievously. “What isssss it??” He drew it out obnoxiously, and Bucky’s lips twitched at the corners, but then the elevator doors opened and he was heading into the hall. Bucky gripped his shirt in his metal hand, holding him still, so Bucky could slip the key into the door.

“You know I was in art school with Stevie, right?” he said, and Clint barely had time to digest that before the door was opening, and Bucky was tugging him through.

“Oh my god,” Clint breathed, staring at the living room, at the white backdrop and lighting setup, and the easel set up in front of a comfortable chair. “Oh my _god._ Should I be turned on? I have no idea what I’m feeling right now.”

“Depends on if you’d like to be drawn with a hard dick or not,” Bucky said dryly, and sat down. “Strip off, model mine, and go pose. Bow’s behind the drape.”

“Are you going to hang it up?” Clint asked, already tugging at his shirt and getting it caught for a moment on his head, so the words came out muffled through the fabric.

“There’s room above the headboard,” Bucky said thoughtfully, and Clint tripped out of his pants, stumbling over and fumbling to find the bow. Oh god, Bucky was going to put a drawing above him above the bed, fuck—

“Turned on,” he gasped out, turning back around with the bow in his hand, “Fuck, I didn’t know this was a thing I –”

Bucky’s eyes twinkled, and he gestured with his pencil. “Straighten up, Hawkeye. I’ve seen your posters, don’t disappoint me.”

Clint made a soft whining noise and drew the bow, sighting down it, and then did his very best to stay still. “Dry pulling isn’t good for it,” he warned, and Bucky snorted.

“Only if you dry fire, and I don’t think you will. Shooting straight at me, Hawkeye?”

Clint bit back a whine. “Never done anything straight to you in my life,” he gasped out, and then froze, which only seemed to make every twitch of his cock more obvious. “Bucky—”

“Shh,” Bucky said softly, and Clint actually did whine then, as Bucky’s eyes traced him, narrowed and sharp, but he stopped talking and stood still, bow drawn.

It took ages. No time and all the time in the world. It seemed to stretch out, each breath and twitch of his cock making him shudder internally even as he stayed frozen. And the whole time Bucky was glancing between him and easel, making soft thoughtful sounds, pencil scratching at the paper. By the time Bucky looked up, he could feel wet dripping down the shaft of his cock, and if he weren’t – well, himself – his arms would have been trembling. As it was, when Bucky stood and approached, it took every bit of sniper training in his body to stay still.

“Steve thought it would be a fun gag,” Bucky mused, grey eyes nearly black. “But I thought it might be a bit more than that. Look at you. Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

Clint sucked in a breath and met Bucky’s eyes. “Do you know what you’re doing to me?” he asked, voice shaking while his body stood still, and Bucky smiled.

“You’re going to stay still,” he murmured, rounding Clint so he was standing behind him, his forehead tipping forward to press against Clint’s shoulder. Clint felt himself get goosebumps where warm breath hit his skin. Cool metal and a warm hand stroked over his hips, and Clint shuddered, only to get a pinch on his arse, making him gasp and grin. The smile was in Bucky’s voice too, when he continued. “Very, very still.”


End file.
